Forever
by zeldazonk
Summary: It was in another Summer of Love, 1969, that they met; starry eyed poet/singer Tristan and worldy, gorgeous groupie Star. Another modern-Moulin from karadarlin! Rejoice! Chapter 2's up!
1. Prologue

Forever: Prologue  
  
A/N: I know someone recently wrote a "Moulin Rouge in 1969" fic, but I've had this idea for AGES and I've never written about it. And since I'm so addicted to the modern-MR idea (I did come up with it, you know. Well, I was the first one to write one. Check out Crazy Love.) So here's mine. It's different. THERE'S NO DUKE!  
  
Well, there might be.  
  
  
  
New York, 1969  
  
  
  
"Who's playing tonight?" The young woman asked her companion, who was taking a slow drag on the joint being passed around.  
  
The longhaired boy-man with the spacey drawl and rainbow painted across his cheekbones looked at her intently, sorting his drugged-out mind for the answer to her question. "Storm." He passed her the joint and she inhaled deeply, enjoying the grassy scent of it, mingled with the rich earth and floral, and the heady fragrance of freedom.  
  
The Summer of Love. 1969. A year of promise. A year of happiness, peace, truth, beauty, freedom. And love. It was the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, or so they proclaimed. The free spirited, new Bohemian "Children of the Revolution."  
  
She was Valerie Diamond, but they called her Star.  
  
And he was Tristan Duval, the heavily glittered front man of hippie cover band Storm.  
  
Little did they know that the Summer of Love would change their lives forever. 


	2. Star, Light

Chapter 1  
  
Tristan Duval was what they called a modern-day Romeo. Handsome, unfailingly romantic and stubborn, poetic. A Shakespearean creation he was, always dreaming about love, writing songs about its greatness.  
  
Alas, he'd never been in love.  
  
It wasn't that he'd never had a chance at love; the girls flocked to him like moths to a light. It was just that Tristan was "so damned picky," as his bandmates complained.  
  
"Christ, Tristan! Thousands of beautiful girls are at your feet day and night and you don't want to touch them!"  
  
"I'm waiting," he'd reply coolly to whichever band member was voicing his opinion.  
  
"For what? Impotence?"  
  
"For the right girl."  
  
"Bullshit. There is no right girl, Tristan. Life is just a maze of sex and drugs; it's one big fucking party! You've gotta live to your potential, right?"  
  
  
  
The opening bands were always more fun for Star. Though she had the power (and looks) to sleep with any major rocker she wanted to, it was that almost naïve quality of the young men in the undiscovered bands that gave her thrills.  
  
All she had to do was slink around at the edge of the stage, and sooner or later, a security guard would take her back to the van or stage area where the glorious celebrities would be waiting.  
  
She'd let them fuck her. It was a cheap thrill, quick and easy. Star didn't consider herself an easy woman, but her status told otherwise. She was, without a doubt, the most legendary groupie in the Bohemian circles.  
  
And it wasn't because she wore skimpy clothes or knew all the different Karma Sutra positions; she didn't. Star was the chosen one simply because she was Star. She certainly wasn't the most beautiful person in the crowd, the smartest, the most talented. Star possessed, however, a certain quality that drew men (and women) to her like magnets. Maybe it was her eyes, which were the color of smoke.  
  
Whatever it was, it was almost magical.  
  
"Ten minutes, ten minutes!" Rang out the voice of somebody involved with Woodstock. They came and went; Tristan paid no attention to who they were. "You're on in. . ."  
  
"Ten minutes." He answered dryly, spreading a little more silvery glitter around his eyes. The reflection in the mirror pleased him; good bone structure, shoulder-length, tousled black hair, starry greenish eyes, and what the women told him were "Valentino lips."  
  
"Are you ready, Tris?" Behind him was Sven, the blonde, blue-eyed Nordic god of a drummer.  
  
"We're playing at Woodstock, Sven. This night will go down in history." Noticing his drummer was holding a smoldering marijuana joint, Tristan grinned and took a drag when it was offered. He wasn't a hardcore addict like most of the hippies at Woodstock, but he had to admit, the stuff did loosen him up.  
  
"Look what I've got!" Enter Roman, Storm's dark, brooding bassist, his voice a sexy snarl. In his hand, he carried a small bag. "LSD. There are drugs up your ass here."  
  
"Let me try it," Sven said, reaching for the bag, blue eyes lit up for want of the drug.  
  
"I've got an idea." Roman took Tristan's Coca-Cola and dumped some of the drug into it. "Try it like that, Tristan."  
  
Being no chicken about experimentalism, Tristan took a swig of his pop and instantly felt the aura-like quality that LSD projected. Colors popped violently in a haze of music and scent, rich hazelnut sandalwood scent. He felt as though he was flying through skyscrapers in Los Angeles with the billboards of Marilyn and Chaplin as his starlight. "This shit is powerful."  
  
His bandmates were under the spell too when someone crowed, "YOU'RE ON!" Reaching for his sitar and punching Roman and Sven to alert them, Tristan stepped on the makeshift stage, still in the dreamworld of LSD.  
  
He was overwhelmed right away; the affect of the LSD wore off quickly. Thousands of people swarmed below him, blowing bubbles, smoking, drinking, dancing though there was no music.  
  
The sky was violet, and there were stars, stars dusting the purple haze, dazzling stars. They sent Chris into awe. Stars. Stars. Stars.  
  
Star.  
  
She wore a silver, shimmering shirt pulled low to display white shoulders and blue jeans ripped to display her perfect legs. Her waist-length, curling auburn hair hung down her back, and a headband of antique silver with a tiny false diamond drop adorned her forehead.  
  
Ordinarily, she danced seductively by the side of the stage and "made eyes" (she hated to use such a Victorian term, but that was the word for it) at the lead singer. Tonight, however, Star was transfixed by the glittering sitar player onstage. He was gorgeous. Shoulder-length ebony hair. Smoldering eyes. Not too many looked like this. Commanding attention as he moved about the stage like Jim Morrison, leather pants gleaming in the moonlight, Star couldn't tear her eyes away from him.  
  
Another trophy.  
  
They were just about at the end of their set. Tristan was glistening with sweat and blinded by the rush of color and the swirl of music around him. He was high on the heavy scent radiating from the crowd, a mixture of herbs, drugs, incense, smoke, and sweat.  
  
And then, his eyes drifting across the crowd, he saw her.  
  
Dimly lit by twilight, she looked like a goddess. Her hair was drenched in moonlight, pale as her skin. She wore a floating top that was the color of the twinkling stars above, and in her hand she held a long, flaming cigarette. Her eyes were on him, and when she caught his eye, she grinned sexily.  
  
Tristan couldn't help himself. He gestured to his bandmates to stop playing. A hush swept over the huge mob of people and all eyes were fixated on him. With a small smile, Tristan took a deep breath and began to sing.  
  
"My gift is my song, and this one's for you!"  
  
A gasp went through the crowd.  
  
This was not good. He'd caught her eye; she'd flirted wordlessly. A fatal mistake, Star thought to herself, despite the magnetism between them.  
  
"You can tell everybody that this is your song." Oh, no. "It may be quite simple now that it's done."  
  
His silvery blue eyes stared straight through her, glittering like the flame of the candle the person next to her was holding. Star shivered despite the warmth radiating from her companions. How beautiful he was.  
  
Tristan loved being onstage. The rush of euphoria was like making love, but stronger. It was better than tripping on the dreamcolorsensual world of LSD. With his eyes still holding her smoky ones, he sang directly to her. "I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world!"  
  
On feet of air, Tristan jumped from the Woodstock stage and nearly flew to her side. He took the silver and smoke woman's arm and twirled her away from the crowd. As though a starlit current of electricity was carrying them, the two glided to a secluded area underneath a blossoming white apple tree. She sat underneath it as Tristan sang to her, a confused smile on her beautiful face. "Sat on the roof and I kicked off the moss; some of these verses, well, they got me quite cross. But the sun's been kind while I wrote this song. It's for people like you that keep it turned on!"  
  
Well, this one obviously liked her. He'd be an easy fuck, an easy trophy for her collection. Star grinned at him, trying not to laugh, trying to resist his floral scented spell. "No, I'm not falling for this one. It's the apple blossoms!" She tried to convince herself. "They're going to my head."  
  
"Excuse my forgetting, but these things I do. You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue! And, well, the thing is, what I really mean is that yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen!"  
  
From his perch at the top of the apple tree, Tristan sang down to Star, who looked up at him with gray eyes glittering in the moonlight. There were white petals in her long hair, cascading down upon her like a bridal veil. God, she was gorgeous. He hung from his knees on a branch upside down, making her laugh. A laugh like pure church bells or Joni Mitchell's voice. Dropping down beside her, plucking a fragrant blossom and putting it in her hair, Tristan sang the last lines. Their faces were dangerously close and her breath danced on his neck. "How wonderful life is now you're in the world."  
  
There was a long lingering silence before she spoke. "I'm Star."  
  
END OF CHAPTER ONE 


	3. Star, Bright

Chapter Two: Starlight  
  
Stars. Starlight, star bright. Stardom. Starshine. Stardust. Stars in his eyes. Star in his arms. Tristan was drowning in Star. Her sweet magnolia scent, the feel of her silken tresses against his skin, her shimmering shirt, her smoke purple eyes. All of this intoxicated him. "I love you," he said softly into her hair.  
  
For a foolish moment, Star loved him. Oh, how exquisite was this feeling of simply being in his arms! She could dwell here forever! But it was not to be; she could not fall in love. She was a groupie, for God's sake! Groupies couldn't fall in love! They were merely around to sleep with rock stars that would shower them with gifts, not to love penniless sitar players.  
  
What was love, anyway? It didn't seem to be all that wonderful . . .no, she was lying to herself. What Star had experienced with Tristan in these whirlwind moments was love, and she knew it. It was heaven.  
  
"No!" Star cried, sitting up and wrenching herself away from his arms.  
  
"No?" He looked crestfallen, like a little boy whose favorite toy has been taken away.  
  
"I can't do this!" She backed away from the apple tree's moonlight-white blossoms, which were probably making her feel this way. "Damn this starlight, this moonlight, those apple blossoms! I'm not in love!"  
  
"But-but-but-" Tristan stuttered.  
  
"No, Tristan. I'm sorry."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You and I, we dance to the beat of a different drum," Star suddenly sang, cutting the cool twilight in half with her sweet yet icy voice.  
  
"It doesn't matter!" Taken aback with her sudden burst into song, Tristan fumbled to respond through music, and failed. "Why?"  
  
"I don't wanna fall in love; love cuts just like a knife." She began to walk away from him, through the trees laced with white Christmas lights. What a beautiful creature, all shimmer and smoke, moonlight a halo in her hair, smoky twilight eyes looking wistful.  
  
"Love is the answer. . .someone to love is the answer!" His voice was barely above a tight whisper as he sang.  
  
"Wise men say only fools rush in."  
  
"But I can't help falling in love with you!" Tristan paused, following her through the trees. "Make someone happy, just one person happy, and you will be happy too!"  
  
"What's love got to do with it?" She turned her head and stared him straight in the eye. Ever the observant one, Tristan noticed the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes.  
  
"Everything! Love is everything!"  
  
"No, it isn't."  
  
"Give me a kiss to build a dream on and my imagination will thrive upon that kiss . . ."  
  
"You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss!"  
  
"Moonlight and love songs, never out of date."  
  
"I'm not in love, so don't forget it. It's just a silly phase I'm going through!" Why was Tristan doing this to her? He was breaking her heart, following her and singing his adamant love verses like Romeo on drugs.  
  
"The stars desert the skies and rush to nestle in your eyes. It's magic!" Tristan climbed up on one star-laced tree and tottered dangerously on the top branch. "When we walk hand-in-hand the world becomes a wonderland! It's magic!"  
  
"Why do you tell yourself that these things that happen are really true?" Star sang flatly and sarcastically, eyes on the ground. Those were words she sang regretfully.  
  
Maybe . . .she could change.  
  
That did it for Tristan. He jumped from the tree and stood to face Star, cold eyes on cold eyes. She didn't love him, didn't want to love him, wasn't going to love him, so it was worthless. "I'll be waiting in line just to see if you care." Tristan turned around and began to walk away from Star, his shoulders slumped.  
  
It pained Star immensely to see him like that. She quit walking away and stood underneath the tree branches, completely quiet. The only noises she heard were her own breath and the thudding of her heart as his footsteps fell on the ground. The stillness seeped into her heart and she felt the pain Tristan was feeling. "Maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me." She sang very softly, hoping he'd hear her.  
  
Slowly, achingly slowly, Tristan turned around. He stared at Star for a long moment, smudges of makeup under his sad eyes. And then, when her heart was in her throat and she was shaking so violently she would fall if he did not speak, Tristan smiled.  
  
Thank God! That grin made Star's whole world explode in ecstasy. She gave a strangled cry in delight and ran towards him. "I've never been much for admitting things," she sang happily, delirious with adoration. "That's why it's so hard to say that I'm head over heels in love with your kind of insanity, that I'm head over heels shook up about the way you sang to me!"  
  
"Star eyes, is what your eyes are." Tristan's grin never left his face, holding Star very close to him, basking in the warmth that she held for him, gazing into her shimmery gray-purple eyes. "Soft as April skies are. Hoping you'll fulfill that promise of a thrill."  
  
"Star eyes," Star sang back. "Flashing eyes in which my hopes rise. Let me show you where my heart lies." She took his hand and placed it on her chest so Tristan could feel the faint beating of her heart. "Let me prove that it adores the loveliness of yours."  
  
He didn't know what she was, but that wasn't going to stop her now. Star didn't care anymore, didn't care that she was really just a whore. She didn't care that their romance probably wouldn't last. She didn't care that she probably wasn't going to sleep with anyone famous tonight. Star was going to spend this wonderful, dreamy night with someone she loved, someone her heart could really care for. Maybe he couldn't offer her jewelry, money, champagne, or drugs, but that was okay. Maybe love was more important than money and sex.  
  
"All my life I've felt content to stargaze at the skies." Tristan's voice was heavenly in Star's ears. "Now I only want to melt in the stardust of your eyes."  
  
"Love here in the starlit hour, oh, heaven's in your eyes."  
  
Tristan was about to sing back to her, but she put delicate fingers over his mouth to shush him. "Love here in the starlit hour, night whispering lullabies. Let me dream forever underneath the silvery skies."  
  
"Let me dream forever . . ." Tristan murmured into her crown of ruby hair. Then he brought his lips to hers, and both could swear at that moment, fireworks exploded. Star's ice and Tristan's fire combusted while they kissed; shivers went down Tristan's spine and hot flames licked at Star's heart. Both were so giddy, so full of love for the other, that they were certain they'd burst if the rest of their lives were to be like this.  
  
"Mick Jagger's got nothing on you," Star quipped when their kiss ended.  
  
EOC 


	4. First Star

Chapter 3  
  
Star awoke to the very soft sounds of someone plucking lazily on sitar strings. "Mmm, good morning." Tristan looked up and brushed away the wisps of hair that fell so sexily over his eyes. His smile was vague and sleepy with the morning, but it still sent shivers down Star's spine. "Morning."  
  
Star rolled over on her back and looked above to the top of Tristan's tent. "Won't your bandmates be angry that I kicked them out of your tent?" "Nah. They're probably stoned in someone else's. And you're definitely worth it."  
  
"Experience." Star quipped. "Come over here; I'm cold." Tristan did as he was told, letting Star stretch her long length over him. "How do you keep your skin so soft?"  
  
"Rock star body fluids." Even though she was joking, Tristan could sense the regret in her tone.  
  
"Have you ever been in love before?" He asked, running a hand down her bare back. "No. I've had boyfriends, but I've never been in love the way it is with you."  
  
Love was a strange and wonderful thing. Star had never felt the way she was feeling now, lying in the tent sheathed in blackness except for the faint glow of a lantern. The sunrise was fast approaching. The electricity between the two crackled and burned, and both felt the raging of desire. They were like fire and oil; when they kiss, they are consumed. Star ran over the previous night's events in her head, the dizzy feeling of falling in love, the fireworks of having Tristan inside her, melding like liquid fire, the hazy shimmer around them. Sex and love had never gone together in her world. Sex was simply a device, like money, to get her what she wanted. Love was the elusive dancing flame, that one peak to which you cannot climb, that one string that seems impossible to grab. And now it was in her hand.  
  
Feelings like these were exquisite, Tristan thought. Star's skin on his felt like gossamer silk, her hair flowing like water, draped across his cheek. She smelled like gardenia and summer rain, illuminated by the lantern. The scents from outside, the drugs and incense and smoke, fluttered lazily around their tent, intoxicating him further. He watched as she ran her fingers through his; long, white fingers with the faint purple veins showing beneath her almost translucent skin. A chill went through him and she felt him shudder underneath her. "Are you cold?" Star asked.  
  
"No. Just amazed. Quivering with divine feelings."  
  
She laughed slightly and placed an airlike kiss on his neck. Her free hand raked through his sweat-matted hair and Tristan grinned. "More of this and I think I'll explode." Star simply outlined his face in kisses. "Listen." He whispered. "To what?"  
  
"Us." Both quieted for a moment, concentrating on the sound of their conjoined breath and heartbeats. After what seemed like hours of silence, Star rolled off Tristan and curled into his arms, letting him spoon his body around her. "It's morning." Suddenly shaking free of his embrace, Star crawled out of their makeshift bed and draped the sheet about herself in an improvised dress. "Star." Tristan whispered. His simple utterance of her name was like a butterfly beating its wings on her naked skin and she stopped what she had been doing to turn to him. "What?"  
  
Tristan sat up and brushed away the lock of hair that continually fell into his deep Scottish eyes. "Tell me."  
  
A silence stood heavily in the air as her eyes bored into his. She was startled, and he knew it. "Tell me everything." Back in time she went easily, for those memories were vivid.  
  
Valerie Diamond slid out the window of her parent's yellow cottage house and sighed with relief as her feet hit cool ground. The car was waiting for her a block away, and into the night she stole quickly, making sure her figure was hidden from the probing eyes of her watchful neighbors. She wore black, a black scarf wound around her glorious, unmistakable red hair. Her bare feet were silent on the pavement as she ran, finally reaching the beat-up red convertible of her best friend Ian. "Hey, Diamond, you ready?" That drawl was heavenly on her ears, for to her it meant freedom. "Ready." She whispered, climbing over the door to settle in the back. She untied the scarf, letting her curls tumble down. "Got my stuff, Laurie?" The tiny girl in the seat next to Ian with the black hair in two long braids grinned and tossed a bag back to her friend. Valerie dug into it and removed her black clothing, not caring that Ian was in the car because he'd seen her naked a million times before. She pulled a purple top with a sloping peasant neckline over her head and yanked it down further to expose her perfect white skin. A pair of beat-up blue jeans with bright colored patches went on next, then the white sandals that laced up like a ballerina's pointe shoes to her knees. With a screech of tires and a flick of Laurie's hand to turn on the radio, they were off into the night.  
  
When the three slid through the beaded doors of the smoky, dimly lit club, Valerie exhaled, for now she was safe. She took the joint that was offered to her and smoked it nonchalantly, her eyes fixed on the singer of the group onstage. His eyes were glued to her too, because nobody was immune to her pure magnetism.  
  
"After," he mouthed. Val pointed to herself as in question, and he nodded. "You and me."  
  
She smiled and felt that familiar rush of adrenaline into her system. She loved this, this freedom.  
  
Later that night, after the band had finished their set, the singer sought her out in the crowd. Easily he found her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She inhaled, smelling marijuana, sweat, and laundry detergent. Outside it had begun to rain. "I'm Valerie," she whispered into his ear as his lips trailed kisses down her collarbone. "No. Star," came his reply. "Come on, Star. Let's go."  
  
Through darkened corridors full of copulating couples they moved swiftly, Valerie/Star and the singer with a name she did not know. Farther and farther they descended into the club, higher and higher she got.  
  
Before realization hit her as to where she was, they were down on a bedraggled couch covered with a purple velveteen spread. Valerie's purple top was thrown on the ground and soon her jeans followed, his quickly added to the pile. "Yes." Her voice was a hot murmur as his hands slid up and down her body. "Your name . . ."  
  
"It doesn't matter." He replied, kissing her hairline, her eyelids, her ears. The realization came to her later that never, never did he kiss her mouth.  
  
"And I moved up the ranks," Star said, fiddling with her necklace nervously. "To the bigger rockers. One of Jefferson Starship's guitarists. One of the Byrds. Mick Jagger, Keith Richards; I serviced them all."  
  
"You enjoy it?" Tristan asked, eyes betraying his hurt. "I did, for awhile. It was one of the only ways I could be free, because my parents were strictly 1950s. It was a rush, you know? But then it became a requirement of me, and I forgot all about love. I haven't had anyone really love me. They use me just for . . ." Her gray-purple eyes clouded with tears that she hastily wiped away before they fell. "Fo-for my sex. I'm not a saint; I'm tainted forevermore with their fucking cocks shoved into me like I was a common whore. Tristan, I am just a common whore. I'm not to be put on a pedestal. I'm a slut! A whore!" Now the tears dripped freely, burning down her porcelain face with its luminescent skin. Star ripped the jewelry from around her neck with one quick gesture, throwing it and watching the beads scatter.  
  
"Star."  
  
"I wanted you just to add to my list! I only needed one more dick to suck, one more glittering god to add to my list. I didn't expect I was going to love you! You can't love me, Tristan! There's too much to me, too many men I've fucked. You'll be jealous, you'll never know. . ."  
  
"Star."  
  
"You don't know what it's like to be me. I'm nothing! I'm not smart, I'm not rich, I'm not ambitious! The only thing I am is pretty and a good lay!" Her voice was growing louder, almost a scream. Star was gasping for breath and the tears were choking her. Finally she fell, sobbing, down onto the sleeping bags. Tristan was beside her, quiet, stroking her hair.  
  
What seemed like hours passed. Her weeping slowed until she was like a child, sniffling and wiping her nose. "I'm suh-suh-sorry, Tristan." "Star, I love you." "Ditto."  
  
And he put his arms around her, and suddenly it was all okay again. 


End file.
